Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Are Your Spidey Senses Tingling?

Okay, I admit it. I have a
little problem with spiders. Yes, I know they’re good, veritable champions
of the insect world who eat all the bad bugs. To this, I say, “Hurray for you! Please, just stay in your own habitat away from my personal space. My home. My bathtub. My car.” This probably makes me a terrible person, but there's something about those eight legs that creep me out. I’ve been
told how wonderful spiders are many times by my husband who, upon hearing me
scream, “Spider!” captures the little bugger and releases it into
the wild (our back yard).

The apple doesn’t fall far
from the tree. Not long ago, I was a passenger in the back seat of my car along
with my thirteen-year-old granddaughter, Madelyn, and her friend, Olivia. My
husband (the spider lover) was driving. Our son (father of granddaughter) was
riding shotgun. Madelyn yipped in alarm. A tiny orange spider was clinging to
the passenger door. Tiny? Orange? Who cares? Shrieks of terror and foot
stomping ensued (mine included).

But, I’m the alpha female . .
. right? I had to save my girls. It’s entirely possible orange spiders are poisonous. I
reached for the laminated map of Washington State and commenced whacking. One
of the girls pointed at the passenger door. “You got it. It fell into the
side pocket.” I handed her a tissue. “Make sure it’s dead.” She dipped the
tissue into the pocket and lifted it up. It held the smushed
remains of the orange spider. I said, “Throw it out the window.” Sweet,
law-abiding Olivia said, “But that’s littering and Madelyn’s dad is a police
officer!” I said, “Give it here.” She handed it over. Window down. No more
spider.

And what were the two men in
the front seat doing all this time? Despite the fact he received two glancing
blows on the back of his head from the laminated map, hubby kept his eyes glued
to the road. My son, after an amused glance at the hysterical females in the
back seat, continued chatting with his father. He's my youngest and knows better than to mess with Mom.Good thing I was on the job.